


Inseverable

by dracoqueen22



Series: Interwoven [4]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Angsty Schmoop, Fix-It, M/M, Past Character Death, Romance, Spark Merging, spark bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 22:11:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4322682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miracles happen. With Sunstreaker back in his arms, Megatron is unwilling to wait any longer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inseverable

**Author's Note:**

> This was written to fulfill a prompt from June's Flash Fiction Friday, an Anon who wanted to see an AU version of Insoluble where Sunstreaker survived the war. This is set in the Interwoven universe but is not canon. It should be considered AU to the Interwoven AU. (Complicated, I know. lol) It has been edited and fleshed a little from what I posted on livejournal last month.

“Ratchet is a miracleworker,” Megatron murmurs. He'd meant to think it to himself, but the sight of Sunstreaker, gleaming and whole, seems to have taken away his reserve. And he is also glad now that he hadn't taken the medic's helm when he'd had the chance.   
  
Sunstreaker scoffs, rolling his optics. His energy field all but bleeds modesty, certainly a first. “Can we not talk about Ratchet right now?”   
  
“I'm sensing some hostility.” Megatron arches an orbital ridge.   
  
Sunstreaker shakes his helm and comes in off the balcony, fingers dragging over the nearly invisible weld line across his chassis. “It's not important. Not right now.”   
  
He's right, of course. With this second chance, there are better things they can do.   
  
Megatron pushes to his pedes and approaches his smaller partner, the ache of longing eased by the familiar slide of Sunstreaker's field against his. The memory of Sunstreaker's lifeless frame in his arms is mitigated only by the sight of his bright optics now. The hope had always been dim at best, that a frame kept in near-death stasis for hundreds of vorns could one day be repaired and revived.   
  
Primus, apparently, had seen fit to grant him mercy. Megatron does not know if he deserves this incredible gift, but neither is he going to waste it.   
  
He cups Sunstreaker's face in one hand, thumb stroking the gold mech's cheek. Sunstreaker's field is warm against his, buzzing with life. They still notch together, far more smoothly and in sync than he and Optimus had ever managed.   
  
“What?” Sunstreaker asks, giving him a suspicious look. He had always been the one more squirmy when it came to emotional displays.   
  
Megatron manages a rough chuckle. “Is it so hard to believe that I missed you?”   
  
Sunstreaker's hand lays over Megatron's, smaller than but equally warm, his field reaching out in time to Megatron's with equal fervor. “Sap,” he says, tone amused.   
  
“That is not the insult it used to be,” Megatron retorts.   
  
He pulls Sunstreaker into his arms, savoring the sensation of warrior grade armor against his own, the cold strength of it. Unlike his brother, Sunstreaker had chosen to keep his military design.   
  
They are unfortunately not of a height, but the pulse of Sunstreaker's field is enough to soothe away lingering anxieties. He can measure Sunstreaker's ventilations by the purr of his cooling fans. He can hear the light tick of internal components moving in concert. Megatron imagines, too, that he can feel the steady oscillations of Sunstreaker's spark through the thick armor of their frames.   
  
“It was never an insult,” Sunstreaker murmurs.   
  
His free arm slides against Megatron's side, hand easing up where a transformation seam grants Megatron a better range of motion, but is just wide enough for a smaller frontliner's fingers to ease into. It had always been a favorite point of contact for Sunstreaker, who could stroke the unguarded ripples of protoform beneath. It had been a gesture of trust between them, two soldiers who could let down their guards around one another.   
  
That it doubles as a direct route to Megatron's spark chamber with a well-sharpened blade is part of the point.   
  
“You still want to do this?” Sunstreaker asks.   
  
Megatron's flight engine rumbles, the vibrations carrying through both of them. Actions always speak louder than words so he scoops Sunstreaker up in a single motion, prompting a bark of outrage from his smaller lover.   
  
“Megatron!” Sunstreaker hisses, flailing in his arms. His field flickers with irritation. “You know I hate it when you do that.”   
  
He turns toward the berth and lowers Sunstreaker upon it, crawling on after him. “No, you don't.” He pauses to nibble at Sunstreaker's knee before he continues with, “You only pretend to.”   
  
Megatron crawls over Sunstreaker, caging him within his arms. He looks down at Sunstreaker, taking in the finely sculpted plates of his face, the bright glow of his optics. They are crimson now, when before they'd been blue. Sunstreaker had asked Ratchet to change them. Megatron did not miss them as they were.   
  
“You keep looking at me like that,” Sunstreaker murmurs, but the snappiness from earlier is gone. It sounds more like uncertainty. An odd emotion from Sunstreaker but perhaps not given the current circumstances.   
  
“You were dead,” Megatron says. He presses their forehelms together, weight shifting so that his hands can find Sunstreaker's, tangling their fingers together. “How else should I look at you?”  
  
Sunstreaker's hands tighten against his. “It just...” His gaze slides away, his field coloring with restraint. “I'm not used to it.”   
  
“I know.” Megatron nuzzles his helm against Sunstreaker's. His lips trace a path over the curve of his helm. “It is my hope that eventually you'll realize I do mean what I say.”   
  
Sunstreaker's ventilations hitch. His plating warms beneath Megatron's lips as he ventures lower, pressing a kiss to Sunstreaker's chestplate, right over a nexus of scars. There used to be a Decepticon badge here, but as Megatron had given up his own, so had Sunstreaker. Perhaps it could be replaced with something else, such as a glyph of belonging. One Megatron could paint upon his own chestplate as well.   
  
“After today, I won't need to guess anymore,” Sunstreaker murmurs. His armor twitches beneath Megatron's lips. “Right?”   
  
Megatron squeezes Sunstreaker's hands in return. “Yes.” He traces the disjointed seam of Sunstreaker's chestplate, feeling the thrum of the golden warrior's spark beneath his lips.   
  
His own spark leaps and dances within his chamber, surging toward Sunstreaker's. There is an eagerness here. As though his spark has been waiting to claim Sunstreaker's all along, understanding what Megatron's processor had not.   
  
“Open for me?” Megatron asks.   
  
Sunstreaker shivers but obliges. Megatron hears the telltale whirr of inner gears twisting and turning and sliding together. Components shift aside as Sunstreaker's chestplates part, pushing up and to the side, baring the scarred metal of his yet-closed spark chamber. Megatron aches to look at it.   
  
Right there, an ugly weld that won't ever be any prettier, is the mark Sideswipe had left on his twin. He'd pierced Sunstreaker's spark chamber in a single blow, had cut through the metal of his brother's lifeforce. Having spent a lifetime in battle, Megatron can read the situation well enough.   
  
They'd been upright. Sideswipe had thrust his blade at an angle, up and into Sunstreaker's chassis. Close quarters. Intimate quarters. He'd probably tasted the resulting spurt of Sunstreaker's energon. His blade had nicked Sunstreaker's very core.   
  
Megatron's engine rumbles again.   
  
“It's ugly,” Sunstreaker mutters. And there it is again, that uncertainty, usually so well hidden but difficult to conceal when all that is between Megatron and his spark is the secondary panel of his chamber.   
  
Megatron disagrees. He presses another kiss to the thick, rippled line, feeling the heat and vibration of Sunstreaker's spark beneath his glossa. He can taste the weirdly sweet flavor of weld residue and hot metal.

Sunstreaker intakes sharply. He trembles beneath Megatron, but there is no fear in his field, only need. Sunstreaker's fingers ripple against his, frame rising up, chassis pushing toward Megatron's mouth.   
  
“Not to me,” Megatron says.   
  
Both of their frames are a litany of scars. Megatron is certain there's not an armor plate on him that is not riddled with weld marks. Or, if they aren't, it is because said plate is not part of his original armor.   
  
“Show me your spark?” Megatron asks, lifting his optics toward Sunstreaker's.

Beautiful crimson returns his gaze, now dark with desire.   
  
It is the moment of truth.   
  
Megatron waits for Sunstreaker to make his final choice. Megatron had made his a long time ago.   
  
“It's yours,” Sunstreaker whispers and the final plate of armor spirals open, revealing the brilliant blue-white that is his spark. “From the moment we met, it's been yours.”   
  
Megatron's spark swells. He drags his mouth back toward Sunstreaker's, lips brushing together with a crackle of static. He can feel the pulse and heat of Sunstreaker's spark against his closed chestplates.   
  
“You are the mech I chose,” Megatron replies and he triggers his own chassis to split, bringing his spark to the forefront. The swirling energies surge forward.   
  
Sunstreaker's field blooms with pleasure. He claims Megatron's lips, more static dancing between them, his chassis pushing toward Megatron's.   
  
There is no more need to wait.   
  
Megatron brings their frames together, feels the first touch of Sunstreaker's spark against his own, and for the first time since onlining next to Optimus, Megatron feels complete.

 

****

 


End file.
